Prefect Love
by Megawacky Max
Summary: Ron and Hermione are prefects of Hogwarts, and along their patrols they have moments of desired privacy. Haven't they?
1. Walking by the hall of memories

  


**-o- **

Prefect Love 

By   
Megawacky Max 

**-o- **

Author's Note:   
First, you don't need to toss rotten fruit at me for the horrible pun in the title. I like puns, and that's all.   
Second, in my repertoire there's already Comedy and Drama. It occurred to me to take a chance with Romance. I don't know if I'm good at it, so you'll have to critique for me.   
Third, and apart from the first two, _this story is rated R_ due to spicy scenes that will increase up to Chapter Four (which is the last one). I don't think It's a serious matter, but anyway I'd suggest you should not read the story if you don't have the proper age. 

Lastly, special thanks to my beloved Eve, who kindly corrected my grammar in this story. 

I'll leave you with the story. Enjoy it. 

**-o- **

Chapter 1   
Walking by the hall of memories 

Hogwarts slept. 

At least, most of it. 

Night covered the horizon. The moon smiled in its crescent quarter while the stars blinked in the heights. A red star, most likely Mars, gleamed more brightly than the others. 

It all was silence in the school Houses. Especially in Gryffindor House. Silence was so complete that even the delicate steps of the house elves, creatures whose only target in life was to serve others, resounded with rumbling restlessness. 

Meet Nugg. 

Nugg had worked at Hogwarts ever since he could remember. His parents had worked and lived there and so did their parents. Nugg was the kind of house elf that learned the chores as he grew up, and the chores in Hogwarts were abundant. That always pleased the house elves. 

Now Nugg had Gryffindor Tower all for himself. The other elves had decided to avoid working there during classes, because over the past year they had found hundreds of little wool caps and gloves hiding everywhere. Giving clothes to a house elf meant freeing him from his slavery as servant, and that was something house elves hated and loathed. 

And that's why they no longer frequented Gryffindor Tower during the school period. Only that silly elf, Dobby, took the clothes. How disgusting, thought the others. 

Nugg carefully raised the remaining scrolls that had been tossed to one side of the fireplace. Students used to leave the remaining scraps anywhere as soon as they finished their homework. Nugg would have scooped it all up in one sweep, but he had long ago learned not to fall for the same trick twice. 

He moved a piece of scroll. A wool sock with amusing and smiling house elves boarded on its sides peeked from under the pile. 

Nugg sighed. He wished that whoever was bothering to knit the presents would stop it at once. Now he would have to use the handle of the feather duster to pick up the sock without touching it with his hands and... 

_Crik..._

Nugg's pointy ears perked up. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder with his huge eyes. 

No one in sight. Nugg gave a paranoid little giggle and grabbed his feather duster. 

"Come on..." whispered a voice Nugg wasn't quite able to hear. 

"Don't be stubborn," replied another whisper. 

"Maybe he'll take it... I made a few yesterday and..." 

"And perhaps I'll begin to spit Galleons," the second voice replied, whispering exasperatedly. 

"Fine, okay... Let's go..." 

There was the faintest of murmurs. Nugg froze, the hand holding the feather duster one inch away from the sock. He turned his attention to the back of the Fat Lady's portrait. 

The portrait opened. 

The portrait closed. 

Silence filled the room like anchovies in a can: struggling for more space. 

Nugg blinked, giggled again and hurried to remove the sock with the feather duster. 

**-o-**

It was the best-kept secret. They always told him everything except that. It was dumb to hide it, because he wasn't affected by it... and, despite that... 

"_Ow! _" someone yelped, in low voice, somewhere in the halls of the seventh floor. 

"What?" whispered the second voice. 

"You stepped on my foot!" 

"Sorry." 

"Look where you're going..." 

"It's dark. What did you want me to do, yell _lumos_ and let Filch catch us in less than three seconds?" 

"Sshhh!" hissed the first voice with notable fright. "All right, all right... But don't say that... I mean... uhm... I'm still not sure we should... eh..." 

"Break the rules?" said the second voice, the owner letting the smile on his face slip into the words. "Hermione Granger is about to break the..." 

"Ron!" she yelled, and they stopped. 

The yelp bounced on the walls. Several portraits woke up, looked around with curiosity and returned to their respective slumbers. After a few seconds, Ron spoke again. 

"Don't repeat that." 

"Don't make me, then," she got angry. "I can't believe you convinced me. I can't believe it, really." 

"We can go back, if it'll make you happy." 

Hermione thought on the offered option. To return to the bedroom, undo the appearance spell she had cast on her bed so it wouldn't appear empty, go back to sleep and forget about what could have happened that night. 

Something unknown and strange shot through her mind like an arrow. The rebellious nature of sweet sixteen forced her to re-think the situation. 

"Let's move on," she said, though she seemed worried. "But if we are caught, I swear you'll regret it every day of your life." 

"Good. Go. Carefully." 

The prefects of Gryffindor moved as one under Harry Potter's invisible cloak. Ron managed to borrow it from his best friend. All he had had to do was simply wait until Harry closed his eyes and started snoring, then sneak next to the storage chest, open the lid, realize Harry had cursed the lid with security spells learned from Moody (Ron swore doomful revenge on Mad Eye, somehow), wait until the jelly-finger effect -literally jelly- stopped, cast an anti-spell on the chest, finally open the lid, and get the invisible cloak from inside. 

"Why do you shake your fingers like that?" asked Hermione while they made their way through the corridor. 

"You'll laugh if I tell you... But not now. We turn down this way." 

"Okay." 

While Ron guided Hermione he couldn't help thinking on the past years. He couldn't believe it had been kept a secret for so long. Since fourth year. Third, if you counted those brief moments together. 

There had been something between them, and it hadn't happened until the first time Hermione visited The Burrow, and a quick exchange of glances said more than a thousand words. 

Of course, she still hated Ron for having seen her in her underwear but, how could she blame Ron? He had thought there was nobody in Ginny's room and walked in to look for his new wand. 

Luckily there was nobody else in the house, except for Ginny and the twins. Hermione's yell (nearly on par with a Howler's, but full of surprise and embarrassment instead of anger) nearly managed to drown out Ron's own squawk of shock and mortification, and by the time the other three Weasleys arrived to the room the young friends were properly dressed, blushing red and inventing all kind of excuses. 

Neither Ron nor Hermione were sure that they had been believed, but the topic was soon forgotten by the rest. 

Not by Hermione, of course. Ron, carefully walking under the invisible cloak, scowled when he recalled the red-hot cheeks of his partner when she trapped him against a corner of the house when everybody else were paying attention to their own chores and let him have it because of "his low ethics..._blah, blah, blah_...what a rude, bad friend..._blah, blah, blah..._ and possibly even being slightly _perverted_...". 

And then Ron had replied that he had knocked first, that she haven't heard it, that he didn't recall she was within five hundred miles of the house and several other dumb excuses. 

She replied to the excuses with accurate comments on Ron's low ethics, which has been already been exposed as critique but she anyways managed to bring new material to the cause. 

And it was right then when Ron spoke before thinking. 

"You say it as if you were ugly," he had said in an attempt to contradict her during the argument. He didn't achieve that, but he had turned her attention to something else. 

Hermione had never really asked herself about her own beauty, if she ever had one or what the others thought about it. For a moment she realized that her studies had taken first place in her personal horizon. And what if she could think a bit more about the way she looked, for a change? 

The faces of Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown popped up in front of her thoughts. She got angry again and resumed critiquing Ron. 

But she had changed. Since that moment something had changed. Ron could sense she talked to him in a sort of more delicate way when being alone, but there haven't been many moments like those... 

Wrapped up in his thoughts, Ron stumbled against a statue. 

"Look out!" Hermione whispered. 

"Sorry... Let's go." 

They resumed their path. Ron remembered what it had been that distracted him. He had remembered Viktor Krum. 

Ah, what a good jealousy attack can perform. Why hadn't he invited Hermione to the Yule Ball? During the school period he never thought of her as a woman, but as some kind of _muggle_ question-answering machine. Not for nothing had his jaw hit the floor when he saw her appear, elegant and beautiful, holding Viktor's arm. 

That had been the jealous attack that brought the spark. 

That had been the real reason behind the strong argument at the end of the Yule Ball, which Harry hadn't understood at all. It was that night, when they returned to the tower, that Ron confessed to Hermione that she was prettier than it seemed. 

And he never understood why it had made her so angry. 

But now she also knew. She knew it, yes, and when she arrived to number twelve in Grimmauld Place, she began to understand the gravity of the whole business with Voldemort. She, Hermione Granger, had become scared for the first time in years. 

He heard her crying one night. She must have walked by the door of his bedroom when Ron just barely managed to hear weeping. Of course, Ron was testing the twin's extensible ears, otherwise he wouldn't have ever heard it; but the thing was that he did hear. 

He climbed down the stairs, carefully, and tip-toed across the corridor, being careful to the point of paranoia not to wake Sirius' mother. The last he wanted was to have that foul witch (literally foul and literally witch) up and cursing. It was barely three in the morning when he walked into the kitchen. It was two past three when he approached Hermione and sat next to her. It was ten past three when she began to confess her fears, and it was eleven past three when she hugged him involuntarily. 

Twelve past three, he hugged her in return. 

Quarter past three, somehow, they were kissing... 

"Ron, look where you're going!" 

Ron got the hard blow of Reality. Real, because it was the present, and hard because it was a locked door. 

"Are you all right? Maybe we should go back to the tower and..." 

"No, no... I'm fine..." he said, rubbing his nose. "Just a bit distracted; nothing else. ...Maybe a little nervous, too. Maybe." 

"Yes... Me... me too." 

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and then Ron said: 

"Shall we go on? It's through here." 

"All right. But watch where you're going." 

No one knew anything about it. Not even the twins and their restless curiosity, or Moody and his roving glass eye, could have guess something like this: Hermione and Ron, in love. 

Harry was going to have been the first to know; he was their best friend and deserved the exclusive. They had waited for his arrival at Sirius's house and were going to tell him everything. He should have felt good for them. 

_How could they not blush? _ Harry had arrived in a mournful mood, and the young lovers had a disgusting surprise when Harry guessed, without thinking, what was going on; "while you two were here, together and having a great time". No, they couldn't tell him, not at that moment. Harry would either blow up something physically or himself emotionally and it wouldn't be his fault. They'd wait until the appropriate time, and then he would know it first... and then, the others. 

But that moment never came. That last year had been a real nervous breakdown for the Boy Who Lived. Not even counting the O.W.L.s; which had Hermione having her own nervous breakdown. And Ron and his initiation into Quidditch. 

A really powerful-and draining-year. 

But even then, there were chances. Ron and Hermione were prefects, and as prefects they had to patrol the corridors. Those were their moments alone, it didn't matter whether they where few and brief. 

But they had had enough of that lack of privacy. Ron and Hermione, after a long debate, had decided to have some long overdue private moments on their own. That's why there were stalking the castle in the middle of the night under Harry's Invisibility Cloak; because behind a certain door hid a most relaxing and intimate area of the castle. 

"We're here," said Ron, his voice trembling. "This is the place." 

Hermione vaguely nodded. Ron put his face near the door in front of him and whispered a couple of words: 

"_Mint scent. _" 

There was a snap. The door opened. The teenagers crossed the doorframe and closed the door after them. They removed the cloak and looked around. 

"Say... it's as pretty as ours," nodded Hermione. 

"Yes, Harry already visited it during the Triwizard Tournament," smiled Ron. He sent a nervous glance at Hermione. "He had no problems that time. Neither will we." 

They smiled with a pinch of nervousness and looked around again. The prefect's bathroom was sublime, spotless, very roomy and, above all else, _private_. 

**-o-**


	2. Only you and me or almost

  
**

-o- 

**

Chapter 2   
Only you and me... Or almost 

Ron had been there, before. The prefect's bathroom was one of the first places he visited when he arrived at Hogwarts in his fifth year with his brand-new badge on the chest. However, he didn't use to frequent it, more than anything due to the fact of the thought that behind the door he could meet Draco Malfoy, prefect of Slytherin. 

That killed the magic of the place, Ron thought to himself. I prefer to keep using the regular bathrooms, thank you. 

In these moments, however, the reasons were different. 

"_Fermaportus!_" whispered Hermione. The door of the prefects' bathroom made kind of a suction noise. She turned to Ron. "There," she said, "that'll prevent... uhm..." 

"Us being surprised?" he finished. Hermione blushed. 

"This is all so weird," she confessed. 

Ron approached and hugged her. There was no one there to make fun of them for doing that. He stared straight into her eyes. 

"I know. But we're here now. We didn't take the risk of getting down here just for nothing, right?" 

"Ron..." 

"Hermione..." 

They kissed. They could do it. No one would mock them. Not there. The kiss was long and passionate. Stronger than any of the others. Ron's hug tightened, and it can be said only robes separated their bodies. 

They separated their mouths and gazed into each other's eyes. Certainly, Ron thought, she looks much prettier up close. How come I didn't realize...? 

Hermione glanced to the pool in the middle of the room. The many faucets of gold, each of them with a different kind of foam, looked inviting. 

Ron also looked that direction. 

"So... do we do it?" Hermione whispered. 

"Whenever you want," he whispered, and kissed her again. 

"Mmm... Okay... Turn around a bit, please. We already set the rules for all this," Hermione blushed, reminding him. 

"Yes, yes...we did set them," murmured Ron, also blushing, and walked to the corner. 

He pretended to be interested on the brick on the wall, but his ears were not his eyes and, naturally, were not listening to the bricks. No, they were quite focused on every little sound behind their owner's back. 

For instance, the soft _tink_ of Hermione's wand being put on the floor; the vague _tapping_ of Hermione's shoes being carefully put aside; most especially the _ruffle_ produced by the brush of Hermione's robes while being taken off and tossed to one side. 

Ron felt his Adam's apple bobbing far too much. 

More noises came to his ears. If she had already taken off the robe, then her shirt would follow next, or her skirt. Ron felt heat, and he had guessed with one hundred percent accuracy that his cheeks were burning hot. He distracted himself by taking a look at a picture hanging from the wall. 

There was a mermaid in the frame. She was showing herself on top of her rock, giving him little giggles. He scowled, took the frame, and turned it. He smiled at the back of the frame, feeling self-sufficient. 

"_Ron... _" 

That was Hermione's voice, all right...but that was not her tone. Ron was about to turn on his heels, but discovered with surprise that, despite the orders were coming from his brain and going to his legs through a most complex nervous system (of which he had no idea of its workings), his legs refused to obey. 

"Ron, you can look..." 

Ron swallowed hard. He couldn't turn. It was that tone. Hermione would have ordered, or just said it once. Ron wasn't prepared to hear her voice asking nicely. There was so much sugar in those lips they would soon be full of ants and... 

_What the hell am I thinking? _, Ron thought. Must be the nerves, yes. This was a bad idea; I'm going to tell her we are going back to the tower and ask for an apology, I can't do this. I thought I could, but no, I can't; thanks but... 

A hand placed on his shoulder. Another hand did the same on the remaining one. 

"Are you okay?" 

... but... but... _No! _ I can't... Yes! Yes, I can... Can't I? Yes, maybe... maybe not, of course... However, well, the thing is... 

"_Ron... _" Hermione purred next to his ear. All what left of the mental stability of Ronald Weasley had just gone down the drain. 

"Ggg..." 

"What?" 

"Ggg..." 

"Oh." 

Her hands lowered down his arms and gathered at the height of his stomach. Ron felt her body leaning on his back, and the infamous sugar lips whispering: 

"I'm nervous as well, Ron. I can understand that." 

Ron nodded. What he couldn't understand was that vague yet unsettling tone of voice. He felt he had to ask it, so he did. 

"H-Hermione?" 

"Yes?" 

Ron swallowed. 

"Did you do your Arithmancy homework, already?" 

Silence. Hermione spoke some seconds later, her voice sounding more decided. 

"What? Well, _yes_, I did it before coming. It consisted of three scrolls of magical equations, but I did it fast even though I delayed a bit because I also included all the steps to the problems. No one told us to do that, but I had to be sure because, well, it was important..." 

Ron relaxed. Yes, that was the Hermione Granger he knew. Now that he was sure the one at his back was the person he loved, he took the necessary muscular impulse (quite difficult to achieve in situations like this) and turned on his heels with such a strength Hermione had to release him and step back. 

And when she stepped back, Ron had a more than generous sight of her silhouette. 

He didn't requite a mirror to see he was red. There, in front of him, was Hermione Granger like he had never seen her before. There was a woman's body under the robe, and now it has been proved. Her skin was slightly tanned, memories of vacations in France, and shape was what could be called "perfect" without taking it to any extremist side. In other words, her figure was _beauty_. No more and no less than _beauty_, and only _beauty_. 

"Ggg..." said Ron. Hermione couldn't suppress a giggle. 

"Thanks," she blushed, guessing the compliment. "I'm not that beautiful." 

Thousands of thoughts shot past Ron's head: "What do you mean?" "You could win a beauty contest!" "You are the most beautiful person in this world!" Ron inhaled sharply, opened his mouth and said: 

"Ggg..." 

Hermione lightly blushed. 

"Thanks a lot." 

Ron tried it again. He gathered all the strength his nerves could contain, carefully arranged the words in his mind, did a mental revision of them, sent the message to his mouth and threatened his vocal cords with death by stabbing if from his lips came another "Ggg". 

And then he spoke. 

"T-that swimsuit f-fits you," he stuttered. 

"Nobody ever said that to me," she smiled. In fact, she had the most important areas of her body properly censored by a swimsuit, some sort of two-piece pink bikini. They had already decided, after a long debate, that they'd have a nice bubble bath all for themselves, that night. 

And nothing more than a bubble bath, remembered Ron. Nothing more, you get it? No crazy ideas, no matter how tempting. You are not old enough, so you must not even picture Hermione taking off her bikiiiiiiii_I'mnotthinkingI'mnotthinkingI'mnotthinking... _

"Are you all right, Ron?" Hermione worried when Ron clamped his eyes shut and made a face that suggested he was thinking of something else. 

"Yes, yes, just a bad thought. Okay, now it's my turn..." 

Hermione nodded, but she didn't turn like Ron had. He had assured to her that he was wearing swimming trunks under his clothes, so he only needed to take them off to be ready. 

And it better be that way, she murmured in her thoughts, because we have already decided it would be just a bubble bath. Nothing else, get it, girl? So no crazy ideas, all right? Don't even dare thinking that, after removing his clothes, he will also get rid of the swimming truuuhhh_I'mnotthinkingI'mnotthinkingI'mnotthinking... _

Ron had taken off the second shoe and observed Hermione's face. He was about to ask her why had she shut her eyes that way, but a last minute thought tranquillised him. Evidently, he guessed, he wasn't the only one in that room with an excess of imagination. 

Once he removed it all, he said: "You can look..." 

And Hermione opened her eyes, focused on her beloved...and began to lower her sight. 

She threw a giggle when reaching his hips. She tried to hold it and failed miserably. 

Ron also looked, and then raised his eyes at her, visibly annoyed. 

"Yes, okay, I can't have the delight of new trunks, okay?" 

Hermione had to look aside while she stuck her fist in her mouth. Ron was skinny and pale under the robe, and she not only found amusing his q-tip legs but also the severely patched and re-patched swimming trunks. 

Ron felt frustrated. Ever since his brothers have opened the prank store, the Weasley family had had an extra income of money; and a very big one, by the way. Molly Weasley, Ron's mother, had never had real sympathy about the whole prank-selling business, although she had recently changed her mind a little bit. 

His brothers had already given a new luxury robe to him, pretty nice, but in that precise moment Ron wished to trade it for a decent swim outfit. To ask the twins for beach clothing for Hogwarts would have been horribly suspicious. 

"You had your fun?" he murmured, blushing slightly, while he watched Hermione twisting and squirming in laugher. It was curiously stimulating to see her do that while all she wore was a bikini, but still Ron was a little annoyed. 

"_S-S-Sohohohoorry-hee-heee... _" she laughed. She managed a monumental effort and bent down to pick her wand up. Ron made to look away, but Hermione didn't notice. 

"I can fix that," she added, straightening up and turning to him. 

"_Whoa_, watch where you point that!" he frightened. Hermione was pointing her wand directly to that so very sensitive space of the male anatomy. 

"Will you calm down? Like I would want something to happen to you... Trust me! I've been practising textile spells since I started knitting clothing for those poor house elves." 

Ron consented. After all, one can hardly find pretty girls in bikini aiming their wands to _that_ place. 

"_Ropareparo!_" she whispered. The patches on Ron's swimming trunk fused with one other, generating a unique piece of fabric which soon turned into a glowing orange colour. "I hope you like it. You're fan of the _Chubby Cannons_, right?" 

Ron's mouth was ready to correct her, but behaved. 

"It's an old textile spell. I'm surprised your mother doesn't know it. Never mind, um..." she toyed with her wand a bit, thinking, "I think we, um... we can do it, now." 

Ron nodded. They approached the faucets and, the same as Harry did in that distant fourth year, they began to turn them on and to have fun with the many effects. The difference was that they had already been in their respective prefects' bathrooms, for which the effects didn't call for their attention quite so long. 

Soon the room filled up with multiple fragrances, and the hot water, hidden under a tide of beautiful bubbles and relaxing lather, reached the border of the pool. The steam choking the place was also warm, so Ron and Hermione soon felt comfortable. 

They stare at each other. Smiled... took hands... and walked into the pool. 

It was a synchronised movement. They both leaned their backs against the marble border and rested the backs of their heads on it. They lamented at the same time on the fact the pool was so deep, because only by standing completely straight could they keep their heads above water, and such a refreshing feeling asked them to have a seat. 

A hand went around Ron's shoulder and gripped the other. He shuddered and returned the favour to Hermione. They got closer, side by side. 

They took a deep breath. A slight touch of mint refreshed their lungs. 

"Can you believe this?" Ron whispered. "We're alone... in a pool full of lather." 

"Mmm..." was all what Hermione managed to say. 

Ron smiled and couldn't help but say: 

"Hermione Granger broke the rules of Hogwarts." 

"Ron, don't make me break the magic, too." 

There was something else in that tone. Hermione sounded serious, but there was also (and Ron could appreciate it) a small pinch of innocent seduction. 

Like she would expect Ron to make her. 

Ron sent an unworried giggle and thought: yeah, right, as if _SHE_ would think that way. 

"And why shouldn't I do that?" he questioned, joking. 

Hermione revised and analysed the emotional content of the previous phrase. Ron had said it with a small pinch of innocent seduction. 

As if he would expect Hermione to make him. 

Hermione sent an unworried giggle and thought: yeah, right, as if _HE_ would think that way. 

The difference was that Hermione recalled: 

But he _does think_ that way... 

And she surprised herself quite a lot when discovering that way of thinking didn't annoy her at all. In fact... she started to like it. 

She shook her head. Concentrate, she said; you are a Prefect of Hogwarts and one of the best students. Don't lose your head just for a bit of bath salts and sweet fragrances. You love him, good, he loves you, very good, but that doesn't mean you have to do anything more than what you are already doing. 

Ron gasped. Hermione didn't hear him. 

And besides, she went on with her mental dialogue, what do you want to do? You can't do anything else. No, you don't want to do anything else. What are you thinking? You _won't do_ anything else. Okay, kiss him; that will do. That's acceptable. 

"Um... H-Hermione?" 

And what's so wrong with doing something more? said a new little voice in her head. _What? _ Oh, I can't believe I thought that. There's a lot of bad in doing something more! You start with a bubble bath wearing bikini and you end in... in... look, don't make me say it. 

"Say, Hermione..." 

Why? It frightens you? It scares you to say "it ends in the bed"? 

"Hermione..." 

Don't say that! Ron is decent. Well, he's more decent than he looks. I won't do anything of that nature until I'm old enough and have a concrete future in sight! 

"Hermione, your hand..." 

Don't you? What a liar. I am part of your imagination, thank you, and I've been there in all those cute thoughts before bedtime. 

"Could you take your hand away?" 

And who gave you permission to see those things?? Look, the fact that you are in my mind doesn't mean I am a pervert of some kind. 

"Hermione, I'm serious..." 

Ah, so you're not a pervert, then? Not even a bit? A little-little bitty-bit? 

"Are you listening to me?" 

Of course I'm not. 

"Fine, have it your way... But remember you started it." 

No? Then you should return to Reality and see _where your hand is this very exact moment. _

Hermione blinked before the declaration of her subconscious and focused in front of her again. There was a marble wall, but only now had she had seen it clearly. She noticed her hand was gripping onto something soft. She looked in that direction, but the layer of lather on the water's surface didn't allow her to look further below. 

But she could _feel_ further below. 

"_Ack! Ron!! _" she yelped. 

"_What did I do? _" he asked, honestly confused. "You were the first one putting a hand on my butt and..." 

"_What?! _" 

"It's true, I swear!" 

Hermione hurried to remove her hand and blushed tremendously. She sunk her head into the water and wished to drown there, but it seemed like a childish attitude and emerged again. 

"Are you all right?" Ron asked, worried. 

"Ron..." she started. She didn't know what to say. "I'm so sorry... I don't know what I was thinking..." 

Yes, you knew. Tee-hee... 

"_Shut up!_" 

"I haven't said a word!" Ron shrugged. 

"Oh, no, not you..." 

"I think we better return to the tower," Ron decided. "You are not okay. I think you need to sleep a bit..." 

"No, it's okay..." 

"... To rest, yes. We shouldn't come..." 

"... I mean it, it's okay..." 

"... I was a fool. I forced you to come and do this; I feel so bad..." 

"Ron, I was the pervert!" 

Her voice rumbled around the room. Hermione covered her mouth with both hands, swallowing some lather in the process. Ron, who was halfway out of water, looked over his shoulder at his beloved. 

"No, that's not true," he said. "Just because... because... having done that, just because you did that you are not... perverted, or whatever you want to call it." 

Hermione showed her back to him, not due to rancour, but embarrassment. 

"Yes, I am...", she confessed in a thin thread of air which sounded slightly bubbly. 

"Right, and I am the _Muggle_ Queen of England," Ron chuckled, but stopped when Hermione did not reply. "Look, Herm...", he slipped into the water again, "I don't know what you think, but you are not like that." 

Hermione didn't reply. Ron looked back and stared at the back of the mermaid's frame. He had the impression that the playful creature was listening to it all and having a hell of a fun time with it. 

"You are not a pervert," he said, firmly. "You were the one who set the rules for this whole thing--like always--I mean, if it was up to me, well... er, let's leave it there, okay? I'm just trying to say that... that... if there is any pervert in this room... eh..." 

Ron thought about what he was about to say, and decided he didn't have anything to lose. 

"... well, that's me," he ended, and waited for the blow. 

There wasn't one. Hermione turned in the water very slowly. She still had both hands to her mouth, as if trying to prevent any other inappropriate words escaping from those lips. She stared at Ron from head to neck (where the lathery water obscured any sight down below) and then spoke in a tone which was carefully and meticulously measured to be polite. 

"Don't say that. You are not like that." 

"Hermione, _please..._" Ron shown an incredulity gesture. 

"Yes, all right... Maybe it's true...in part. But...", she looked aside, "...but I..." 

The water in front of her agitated. A body delicately floated until stopping next to her, and two arms surrounded her with care. She wanted to look up into his eyes, more due to instinct than desire. He didn't say anything. Nothing has to be said while kissing. 

"Maybe I am," she confessed after the kiss was over. 

"I doubt it. At most it's probably a very serious case of runaway hormones. What? You would have said something alike." 

"That's true," she smiled. That calmed Ron down, although Hermione had lowered her eyes and had leaned her chin on his shoulder. 

Ron tightened the hug, raising one hand along her back and stroking it carefully. Hermione radiated an aura of thinking with all her strength. As a matter of fact, she was in the middle of a mental wrestling match. 

Those hands so used to turning pages in books also climbed up his back. Strokes accepted by Ron, in spite of a hint of doubt. Hermione's thoughts were being projected by her movements. 

And, finally, she spoke. 

"Ron?" 

"Mmm?" 

"What would you do if... I told you... you can remove my bikini?" 

Ron open his eyes as wide as soup dishes, and gave enormous thanks that Hermione wasn't watching his reaction. He meditated on her words for a very short second, opting to play the fool and ask: 

"What? Sorry, I didn't hear quite right." 

"I don't mean it all," she said, and by the tone she was blushing. "Only the... the top. I've been thinking on this, and I don't think it's right... but... I do not know what's with me. I feel this is what I want, but I don't want to admit it. Maybe you are right, Ron. Maybe it's a case of runaway hormones. But they win over me." 

Ron said nothing. He didn't want to say a thing. He knew the moment he opened his mouth he will ruin everything. He was absolutely convinced that even a miserable "Ggg" would be taken the wrong way. 

He waited for her to resume speaking. 

"The truth is," Hermione said, "that I do have... inappropriate thoughts... about us." 

"Uh, well... Since you mention it... me too. I guess it's something about our age." 

"Yes... Even then...", she swam back a bit and Ron stared straight into her eyes. "Ron... I'll be honest. I love you, and I know you love me. We have risked a lot by coming here, but we really, truly wanted privacy. We have already broken several rules and have been playing with them. We are, in the middle of the night, in a hot pool, just dressed in swimming clothes," she smiled, and it was a smile that implied privacy in the sweetest of ways. "What's the problem, then, if we break the rules... just a little bit more?" 

Ron considered this. She's joking on me, he thought. She's expecting me to reject it, so I will demonstrate I am not attracted physically. Yes, it's the sort of test women put on men without any specific reason. She's testing me and I am not going to fall for it. I am sure she's testing me. 

Hermione smiled and floated toward him. Hugged him about his waist; glued their bodies and noses together. 

"You can do it. I allow it." 

But of course, Ron thought, what the hell do I _know_ about women, anyway?? 

His hands poised on her hips. They started to move up in impatient expectation and soon tangled with the back knot of the bikini top. His fingers toyed a bit with it. 

"Hermione..." Ron began, nervous, "... I warn you..." 

She interrupted him with a kiss and a giggle. 

"I trust you. Go on." 

He smiled, but nervously. He took the ends of the knot with slightly jellyfied fingers and tried not to think about McGonagall's facial expression if they were ever caught... No, better not to think at all. 

He was resolved. His fingers began to pull. 

"Oh, come _on_. Take it off, already..." 

Ron and Hermione quit smiling. Slowly, very slowly, they turned their heads to the wall. The girl there covered her mouth in a pretty mocking gesture. 

"_Whoops_, sorry... Did I interrupt? I am _so_ very sorry, really," the ghost of Moaning Myrtle apologised, yet her voice didn't sound sorry at all. 

**

-o-

**


	3. Hermione's decision

  


**-o- **

Chapter 3   
Hermione's decision 

Nugg was diligently cleaning the chimney of Gryffindor's common room. He put the ashes away in sacks and cleaned the chimney one more time. Then he turned and observed, hands on his small hips, the room. He nodded, satisfied. 

The Fat Lady's portrait opened. 

The portrait closed. 

Nugg kept his eyes on that spot, asking himself if he might have eaten something that made him hallucinate. He shrugged and began to gather the sacks. 

He thought he had heard the gentle rushing of a cape. For a moment his pointy nose sniffed the air. Nugg could have sworn he smelled mint fragrance. 

From that moment on, Nugg decided to work twice as fast and get the heck out of the tower as quickly as his thin legs allowed. 

**-o-**

Harry Potter awoke from his awful night. 

His head hurt. The Occlumency classes Snape was giving him were starting to work, but for the novice Occlumancer it meant that his head felt like it was full of rocks by the time he woke up. 

It's funny, thought Harry, how the Ministry of Magic's attitude had changed towards him. After admitting the return of Voldemort, Cornelius Fudge, current Minister of Magic, woke up from his little world of fantasy and landed abruptly in rock-hard Reality. Now there was no doubt that Harry was important, because he was the only chance the world had to get rid of Lord Voldemort. 

So, finally, he decided to help out. 

The first thing to do, according to Professor Dumbledore's explanations, was to make sure Harry never left his mind open to Voldemort again. They were still connected by the spell that could not kill the Boy Who Lived. Dumbledore demanded that Harry get back to the Occlumancy classes, and the boy didn't complain this time. He had already lost too much by not obeying. 

He couldn't help to think on Sirius. 

He refrained from punching himself. It was not the best memory to begin a thoughtless morning. He preferred to recall, with joy, the huge surprise the Dursley's had as soon as Harry returned from school. Uncle Vernon had had the fright of his life with Harry's group of friends, but his fright and indignation reached a high-tension peak when the first owl arrived at Privet Drive. 

Apparently, Harry was now authorized to use his wand under orders of the Ministry in consideration of the dangers he had a tendency to run into. 

If that hadn't been bad enough, private Occlumency classes during summer was torture for all involved; Harry, the Dursleys, and Severus Snape himself. 

Snape didn't like visiting a _Muggle_ house at all, let alone three times a week, to make sure Harry was emptying and closing his mind. Dumbledore, however, had made it clear that Voldemort mustn't take advantage of Harry's thoughts ever again. Uncle Vernon and the rest of the family nearly had a nervous breakdown when told that a wizard would visit the house. Harry, in agreement, kept studying Occlumency, due to that fact that if he would have had taken it seriously before, Sirius could still be alive. 

Harry remained silent for a couple of seconds. Then he slapped his right cheek. 

He mustn't think on him. No matter what happened, he just _mustn't_ think on Sirius. 

He opted to recall happier things. For instance, the Dursley's faces every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, when Snape appeared in the living-room of the house. 

Having fully awakened, and almost ready to face a new day, Harry got out of bed and began to dress. Only then did he hear the ungodly snores coming from somewhere in the room. Harry couldn't remember Neville snoring like that, ever. 

He was surprised quite a bit on discovering that Ron was the culprit. 

And he became even more surprised that Ron stank of flowery perfume. And mint. 

**-o-**

"No problem, really," Ron yawned during breakfast. "I just slept badly, that's all." 

Harry was not sure he believed that. After much training with Moody (the Order of the Phoenix spent the summer visiting Harry to provide him with short private classes, which left the Dursleys with constant heart attacks) had turned him into a paranoid person. Ron was hiding something from him, and he would give half the gold in his Gringott's vault to find out. 

More mint fragrance arrived to his nose, only not from Ron. Harry turned in his seat and saw Hermione sitting next to him. She was exhausted and seemed annoyed. 

"Good morning," she said, and yawned strongly. Ron imitated the yawn and Harry had that pinch of suspicion that told him something weird was going on. 

"Are you two okay?" he asked at last. Ron choked on his pumpkin juice. 

"Of course I'm okay!" he said. "Why? Do I look odd? Something on my face? I'm fine, so is Hermione." 

Harry blinked. How could Ron know if Hermione was fine, or not? Harry glanced to the girl. She was asleep in her breakfast dish. He turned again to Ron, doubtful. 

"What?" 

"Nothing..." murmured Harry. 

He hadn't been the only one noticing the strange behavior around Ron and Hermione. Neville asked about the intense smell of mint coming from the both of them, and they excused their selves saying they have been practicing air-deodorizing spells. Lavender and Parvati, some sort of _Gryffindor Gossip Accumulation Front Brigade_, asked Hermione to share the spell, but she refused. Even Ginny realized something was wrong. 

And not only because Hermione. Ginny, who had obtained the position of Chaser on Gryffindor's Quidditch team, told Harry that Ron hardly bothered catching the Quaffles flying toward his rings during training that afternoon. 

What unsettled everybody the most, however, was the way Moaning Myrtle's ghost wandered along the castle. 

She was _singing_. 

Two nights later, Hermione said a word describing Myrtle that made Ron stop dead in their patrol area. 

"Hermione!" 

"Well, if it wasn't for her... well...", Hermione grumbled, feeling mad at ninety-nine point nine percent of the world (Ron was the one-tenth that she excluded). 

"Now... now, don't push it," Ron shakily consoled her after recovering from the fact that Hermione--_his_ Hermione--had used a swear word. 

"It was my fault," Ron went on. "I forgot she often spies on the Prefects. Harry told me... but that was a while ago. And since I hardly use that bathroom, well..." 

"Yes, I understand," she sighed. "Anyway, look at the bright side: _it could have been Peeves._" 

Ron considered it and tried to imagine what could have possibly happened if Peeves would have discovered what were they doing. 

He shuddered. 

"Good point." 

They walked past the Prefect bathroom's door and couldn't help gazing at it. 

To think that something almost happened in there, they thought at the same time. If it wasn't for that darn Myrtle... No, the bathroom is not safe. 

They both kept walking, but without looking where they were going. That thought had made them deeply meditate on something. 

_Not safe?_ What, you want to try again? they asked of themselves. Well, then you better find a better place, because we can pretty much forget about the prefect's bathroom. 

"I know," Ron and Hermione groaned out loud at the same time. 

They stopped and stared at each other, curious about the sudden timing. 

**-o-**

So that was the situation. So they both thought the same way. Ron and Hermione could have their big ideological differences, but on certain specific topics their thoughts found matching points. And now they have just discovered said matching points were, in certain way, _forbidden_ and _punishable_. 

A new debate between lovers took place. They spoke during the patrols, keeping their voices low to avoid being heard. Hogwarts had thousands of ears, not only in the portraits on the walls, but also in the ghosts, the professors, the other students and, of course, the rest of the prefects. 

"Look where you're going, Weasley," hissed a voice that dragged the syllables. 

"Don't bother, Malfoy," said Ron automatically. 

Draco Malfoy walked past them. His expression radiated hatred after five years of seeing Harry get his way. And now he had two new reasons to get furious: a pauper with prefect privileges and a daughter of _Muggles_ with the same benefits. 

He hated them all. He hated Harry. He hated him for having put his father in a difficult situation. Lucius Malfoy had been found along with other Death Eaters inside the Ministry, tied up by the members of the Order of the Phoenix. He hated Harry for having sent his father to Azkaban, even though he was now free. It was easy to escape from Azkaban, now that the Dementors didn't torment Voldemort's members. 

But he was a fugitive, though everybody thought his son knew his exact hiding location. They were right. Draco knew, and he hated Harry for having done that to his family. He was resolved to everything to make him pay for his daring. 

He also hated Ron. He couldn't believe he was a prefect. He couldn't understand how they could give such a position to a moronic fool who in his entire life hadn't seen two Galleons put together. He hated him and all his family, and he really wished he could hurt them, somehow. After all, he had helped Harry to jail his father. He was determined to make him pay his daring. 

And then there was... _her_. 

Draco hated poor people having prefect badges, but to let a _mudblood_ have one... 

That was not hatred. He had always thought all his hatred was generously dedicated to Harry James Potter. And, however, every time he saw her walking around, showing off her stinking prefect badge... That was not hatred. Hatred was too little for her. What he felt when watching her walk by was such a huge aberration and depreciation, so intense, so powerful that his hand clenched his wand until colored sparks came from it. 

Hermione Granger, prefect of Hogwarts. The end of the world, in Malfoy's mind. And she had also helped Harry to jail his father. 

A thought concentrated in that mind full of hatred; in that blood pure of magic. A wish for that which was more than hatred. Malfoy understood that he was resolved to do everything to make her pay her daring. And he even scared a little when discovering that, when he said Everything, he really meant _Everything_. 

"You are not in your jurisdiction," he muttered. "You've reached the dungeons, and here the prefects of Slytherin patrol. Go back upstairs, or I will be forced to take points from you. Not that I care, of course." 

Ron growled, but obeyed. Draco observed them leave, but his eyes stayed still on Hermione's figure. 

He was resolved to do absolutely _Everything_ to make that horrible mudblood pay for her nerve. 

**-o-**

It had been a week since Myrtle interrupted the couple in the prefects' bathroom. Ron and Hermione had managed to sleep well. It wasn't easy for Ron to go to bed without thinking on Hermione in a bikini... or without it. He was thankful he wasn't the one emptying his mind before going to sleep, though sometimes he would have preferred it that way. 

Hermione had similar problems. She was used to going to bed with her head full of thoughts, but none of them until now had occupied all her dreams. She was thinking on Ron. She was thinking of all the lost kisses. She was thinking, bitterly, on the lack of privacy in Hogwarts. If they could only admit it... But they weren't sure on how would Harry take it. They wanted to wait for the best moment. 

"_Legilemens!_" yelled Harry, but the spell didn't work. Dumbledore was teaching him to enter into other people's minds. He was hoping Harry could use this skill to find out the true intentions of whoever stepped in front of him. 

Right now, in front of him was Neville. 

"Saw something?" the other boy asked, full of hope. 

"Nothing," Harry lowered his hand. "It's not an easy spell." 

It was, in fact, one of the most difficult of the book. Not as difficult as entering an outsider's mind; that could be done; but the challenge was to enter without the other mind's owner realizing it; which was a very different deal. 

"You are supposed to empty your mind, the same as with Occlumency," explained Hermione, always willing to help. "Leave space in your mind for the thoughts you'll see." 

Harry scowled, but agreed. He had promised himself to pay attention to his friends. If he would have done so the last time... 

He slapped himself again. 

"Stop doing that, please," asked Hermione. 

Harry sighed. He took a deep breath... and aimed Neville. 

"_Legilimens!_" 

Silence. Neville spoke. 

"Well?" 

"Nothing." 

"Oh." 

Ron walked into the common room and sat heavily on the couch, next to Hermione. 

"We have to patrol, tonight," he said. "Separate rounds. You have from second floor to fourth. I have from fifth to seventh." To Harry, he asked, "How's it coming?" 

"Awful," Harry muttered. He aimed at Neville with his wand. "_Legilimens!_" 

Neville smiled expectantly. 

"Nothing... _Bah_..." said Harry. 

"Separate rounds, then. Well, that's fine by me," said Hermione, but she seemed disappointed. She yawned and stretched. "In that case, I'll go rest a moment. I must be alert for the round." 

"Yeah, me too..." whispered Ron. 

"_Legilimens!_" yelled Harry, aiming his wand to Crookshanks. 

"Don't lose it, Harry. You'll get it soon." 

Harry ignored Hermione and yelled "_Legilimens!_" to a passing fly. Suddenly he had a slight yearn for sugar. All right, that was an advance. 

Later on, that night, Ron patrolled the floors assigned to him. He liked to take points from the other houses, but he never did it if there wasn't a broken rule in the process. Hermione had taught him to be fair about point reduction. Of course, sometimes it was hard to control the Slytherins... but what the heck. 

His round proceeded normally. Nothing strange on the fifth floor... all calm on the sixth... nothing unusual on the seventh... 

He started to get bored. When Hermione patrolled with him they could chat and argue. Especially, they could kiss at every chance. He realized with every new moment he missed those cute and soft lips more and more. 

He sighed. He agreed he wouldn't sleep well, that night. 

What we need, he thought, is a private place. Make that _really_ private. We need someplace where nobody can find us. The Shrieking Shack? Not a bad idea... We just have to avoid the Whomping Willow from ripping our heads off with one blow. And besides, maybe Harry will worry for us, take out his map and realize we're no longer in Hogwarts. 

No, the Shrieking Shack is scratched out. 

He began to walk in circles in a corridor. He no longer kept watch; now he was thinking heavily. He knew he could find a solution to the problem. 

_Think_, he said to himself, think carefully: what Hermione and I need is a _private place_. A place where we can be alone and can not be bothered by anybody, _not even nosy ghosts_. 

There was a subtle change in his peripheral vision. 

When Ron looked in that direction, he surprised to find a door where there had been wall seconds before. 

But he surprised even more when looking at what was on the other side of the door. 

He stepped back and observed the hall he was in. He smiled. 

"But of _course_... I'm so dumb..." 

**-o-**

Hermione listened carefully to Ron's whispers, later that night in the common room. 

"_The Room of Requirement?_" she whispered, unable to admit she was so stupid for forgetting such a wonderful discovery. 

Of course, it was the best place. The only place. It was the Room of Requirement, which hid in the seventh floor of the castle, waiting for someone with a huge need. It would materialize in that room what the visitor so desired. She had already heard sightings of the room becoming a bathroom full of toilets, broom storage for hiding, and a small clinic for house elves whom had overdosed on alcohol, and Hermione herself had seen with her very own eyes the astonishing training room obtained for the DA sessions. Of course, now that Umbridge was nothing but a bad memory, Dumbledore had considered the idea of the DA quite amusing, and had provided a large classroom for the group practices, which now reached thirty members. 

That meant the Room of Requirement was available. Available for whatever Ron and Hermione would want to do. 

His mind froze. What do you mean _"whatever we would want to do?"_

You know what I mean, naughty girl. Tee-hee... 

Hermione had decided, several nights back, that the second little voice in her head would bring her an awful lot of trouble. Maybe because it always spoke honestly. 

"We could... go there... during the next round," Ron whispered while they pretended to watch Harry practicing Legilimancy on Ginny. "Or any night we want." 

His voice sounded with trembling expectation, the same one can find in those people who take a shotgun and stare at the multitude of tranquil pedestrians while they show a demented smile and think "I want some fun". 

Hermione scared a bit upon discovering that she was thinking the same way. This whole Runaway Hormones' business was resulting in much worse anxiety than the final tests, because the good thing of final tests, the really good thing of final tests, was that you only had to study books and do some practical exercises. 

With the topic of love, it seemed that books were not quite needed. 

"_Legilimens!_" yelled Harry. "Were you thinking on a green midget?" 

"No, I was thinking on Moaning Myrtle," declared Ginny. 

"Close enough... Not really. _Bah_, I hate this..." Harry closed his eyes and proceeded to empty his head. 

"Haven't you noticed Myrtle is acting weird?" Ginny asked Ron and Hermione all of the sudden. "It's like if she knows some secret and doesn't want to tell. What's wrong with you two?" 

Ron and Hermione had blushed at the same time. Harry, Ginny and a couple of students who had stayed in the common room out of curiousity stared at the teenagers on the couch. 

"It's hot," lied Ron. 

"I'm sleepy," excused Hermione. 

"And tomorrow we have classes." 

"We should go to sleep." 

"Yes, good night." 

"Good night." 

"Bye." 

Ron and Hermione stood up, yawned in a strange way and walked to the stairs. 

"Well, good night," Harry whispered. 

While he was climbing the first steps, Ron heard Harry was practicing again with Ginny. He was heard yelling _"Legilimens!"_ and Ginny replying _"Won't work that way..."_

Ron scratched his nape and went to the dormitory. 

**-o-**

It was meticulously planned. Hermione even felt like a criminal mind analyzing the security system of the most efficient and secure bank in the world, except this was not about a bank and she didn't look forward to robbing the main vault. 

What Ron and Hermione wanted was time of their own. 

There was a problem. A huge problem. The worst problem two people in love will eventually face at some point of their relationship: _a moral problem._

It could only be compared with a good yawn. To yawn makes one feel comfy. A good yawn is always accepted, it seems to relax most of the body. But here's the thing, when the yawn is interrupted by an outside element, one has that horrible feeling of not being able to yawn again. 

Hermione felt something alike since the incident with Myrtle. The phantom girl had interrupted her little demonstration of love. Now Hermione felt, with certain fright, that she wanted to give much more than kisses to Ronald Weasley. 

Hermione brought the topic during the next round with him, and the debate that comment generated was bigger than any of the previous ones. So big it was they even extended it during two days in a row, talking about that in every free moment of privacy. The problem was not that Hermione wanted to try something more with her next love escapade, not even that Ron had thought "something more" would be "much more"... 

The real problem was that Hermione, in a deep corner of her mind that would make the submarines that found the Titanic die of embarrassment, was wishing it would end in "much, much more". 

And it began to be noticeable to others. Hermione, who had never shown a sign of being out of her mental balance (except the day before a test) was now acting in a way that soon caught the attention of others, especially Ron. To begin with, her spells deviated slightly due to gently trembling hands. She stuttered a bit when talking, especially when answering questions in class. And, for some reason no one really wanted to know in detail, she blushed quite often. 

Ron was different, she thought. Ron freed his pressure by insulting the Slytherins, kicking stuff and, of course, _Quidditch_. Yes, the Quidditch allowed him to release most of his pressure, that's why he hasn't changed. 

Hermione shivered. In fact, it was Quidditch what had him as sharp as a needle. That sport practice consumed all the adrenaline his romantic visions produced each night. What's more, now that he was able to sleep again, he was playing much better. 

Hermione didn't like sports. Hermione didn't insult anyone. All Hermione did was read, write, and study. And that freaked her. She didn't have any escape valve for all that was accumulating inside of her, and she had the accurate sensation there wouldn't be a way to stop the flow once it opened. If she couldn't find any way of releasing some of all that, her next escapade with Ron in the Room of Requirement would be... would be... 

You don't even want to think on that, naughty girl. Tee-Hee-Hee, I can't blame you. You were so cute and educated for so long, but you have nibbled on the forbidden fruit... and now you want it all for you. 

"_Shut up!_" 

"What did I say??", Ron jumped aside. 

Hermione returned to Reality and recalled she was currently patrolling the sixth floor along with Ron. She was thinking about the famous escapade when her mind began to drift in no defined direction. Better said (and for the worst of it), in a direction totally defined. 

She didn't want to say it. No, no she didn't. It was not correct. It was not allowed. They were young, they mustn't do it. Yes, she wanted to say it, but couldn't. She wanted to suggest things she would have never believed she was willing to do, and each time it was harder to keep them inside. If she didn't do anything soon, she'd explode. 

"I'm sorry, Ron..." 

"You've been acting odd, lately. Are you sure you're fine?" 

"Yes," she lied. 

They walked for a while, until Ron decided to speak. 

"We don't have to do it, if you don't want." 

Hermione looked at him out of the corner of the eye. Ron went on. 

"The Room of Requirement thing, I mean. Maybe it's a mistake to try. I don't think it'll be good for you." 

He was worrying for her. No, I can't tell him. I can't do it. We are too young; it's not the right time. 

"I just want the best for you," Ron said in low voice. "Truly, I'm worried. I wish I could know what's with you. I would really want to help you." 

Oh, no, _no_, don't do this to me, Ron... Don't say that... Don't make it easier for that other voice in my head. _Shut up!_ Yes, I'm talking to you, stupid little pervert! _Get out of my head!_

No, thanks, I'm comfy in here. Have you seen how handsome is he, today? 

I can't believe this is happening! 

I can, Tee-Hee... 

"Hermione...", Ron started, and stopped. Hermione imitated him and turned. Her beloved had his eyes fixed on his shoes. "Look... I don't want anything bad to happen to you. You haven't been the same since... _that_ time. I know it's my fault." 

_Nooo!_ Ron, shut up! Don't go on! You're killing me! 

"So... I've decided to stop this for good," he glanced up. "Maybe we should forget about us." 

The silence that followed to his declaration was so dense it could have been cut with a knife. Not even the voices inside Hermione's head interrupted the calm. Hermione tried to consider it all, but failed. 

"_What?_", she whispered. 

"It's for your own good," he said, lowering his sight again. "I believe you are kind of hysterical, or something, and it's probably my fault. I mean, it shouldn't happen to you, you always do things right and... and that's it. Hermione, I want you to recover, to be back to your old self, and if that means..." 

He paused. Hermione saw his gesture of pain. 

"... and if that means... stop loving you, then... Hermione, then I will give it a try." 

He's doing it for you, said a voice in the head of the girl. Hermione couldn't figure out which one was. He's doing it for you, girl. He's quitting loving you only for you. He believes he's responsible. He believes he is the problem. And now he quits loving you because you don't know what you want. Or maybe I should say, you don't want to admit that how much you love goes against all you believe and respect. 

But, what's more important: what you _believe_, or what you _love_? 

Hermione heard the inner voice talking calmly and softly. Her lower lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears. _The hell with rules_, she thought. 

"_Ooff!_ Her... mio... _nneee_!" 

Ron tried hard to survive the hug. Hermione had glomped him and her arms had become as strong as a bulldozer's claw, trapping Ron like a pearl in a clam. The girl began to cry. 

"_It was me!_", she said. "It was my fault, Ron! Not you! Of course it wasn't you! It was me and all these impulses and retained feelings! It was me!" 

"All right... calm down... and let me go... Please..." 

Hermione loosened the hug, but didn't release him. She cried on his shoulder for a long while, during which Ron looked everywhere, trying to avoid being seen. When she finally calmed down, Hermione stepped back. 

"Ron, I can't take this anymore. I want you to listen to me, because I don't want to hide it any longer," she said in a most watery tone. "I want to show you how much I love you, and I want to do it in the most intense way. Ron... I... I...", she bit her lower lip. More tears flowed from her eyes. The words got stuck in her throat, but she no longer wanted them there. She wanted them out, in the air, in her beloved's ears. She didn't care anymore. "I want to spend a private night with you." 

Well, about time you admitted it, said her frisky voice. Although I would have used other words. 

Ron opened his eyes widely, his jaw was slightly dropped. So many thoughts have crossed his head that now all the exits were heavily jammed. When he spoke again, he tried to stay as calm as possible. 

"H-H-Herm-m-m-mmione... W-We are t-t-too y-youn-n-ng...", he stuttered, demonstrating a most spotless failure. 

"I know! But... I can't go on like this, and I don't want to drag you to anything you don't want!" 

He hugged her, strongly. He was right when hoping that would give him some extra seconds to think. He released her and stared straight into her eyes. 

"Hermione, you know how my mind works. Well, kinda. Eh... Look, I won't deny I had already had fantasies with all that and... eh... well, of course, the visions are one thing, but I don't think we should... we should..." 

She took his hands. They gazed at each other. The voice Hermione used next was much calmer and lighter. And honest. Very honest. 

"We don't have to... do it all," both blushed. "I think we can... we can... allow ourselves to... to reach... _something_. But not it all. I don't know if you understand me." 

"To reach _something_, but not _it all_," repeated Ron to himself. "Yes... Actually, I understand it perfectly." 

They kept their eyes on each other. Their hands squeezed. 

"We have a lot to plan," he whispered. 

"Quite a lot," she nodded. 

They kissed. It was one of those long kisses that often come with background music. Violins. It lasted more than one minute, but for them it was mere seconds. They resumed their round holding hands, starting to plan the biggest rule-breaking a happy couple could have ever considered doing in Hogwarts castle. They were willing to do everything for love. 

Two seconds after Ron and Hermione turned on a corner at the end of the corridor a third person leaned around the other end and glued his eyes towards the opposite side of the hall. 

He thought about everything he had just heard. He wasn't quite sure if he should laugh like a maniac or combust with hatred. He opted for impartiality. 

His fingers toyed with his wand. His eyes couldn't move from that corner. His mind was beginning to make plans on its own, and he felt proud of all those evil thoughts. 

Certainly, Draco Malfoy was resolved to do everything, absolutely _everything_, to get revenge on those who humiliated his last name. He decided to make them pay expensively, quite expensively, extremely expensively for showing their horrible, dirty Gryffindor nerve. 

**-o-**


	4. Just remember you must forget

–**o–**

**Chapter 4**

**Just remember you must forget**

The common room of Slytherin, down in the depths of the dungeons, was said to be a cold, damp place. That was just a myth, since the students within had all the comforts of the other houses. Perhaps the only big different with Gryffindor Tower was the view on the other side of the windows. It was more than anything else due to a considerable difference of heights.

Draco Malfoy could not sleep. He was the only one remaining awake, sitting on his bed amid the massive groans his bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle dared to call snores. Draco was toying with his wand between his fingers, though his mind wasn't paying attention to that. His sight was focused beyond the shadows of the room, even more noticeable within the space confined by the curtains of his bed.

He was thinking on Weasley and Granger. He was thinking on all that hatred toward the rule–breakers who always got benefited by that nutty madman Dumbledore. Damn lover of poor people and impure witches.

So little Miss Granger and Mr. Big Jerk Weasley were planning a night of their own, all together and cozy, cuddling each other? Oh, the very idea made Draco tremble with wrath. He wasn't going to allow that. He wanted to hurt them, and he was currently meditating on how to do it.

What would be good?

The first option was to go and tell the professors. Yes, McGonagall, Snape, even maybe nutty Dumbledore. Yes… he would lead them all directly to the happy and naughty couple and he will see the faces of horror while they try to pull away from each other's embrace. They would expel them. Not even Dumbledore could find a loophole around that evidence. Two Prefects of Hogwarts in the middle of a rule–breaking.

Draco quit smiling.

No. Not that. He wouldn't tell. That wasn't enough punishment. Those two deserved something worse. How he missed Professor Umbridge! If only she was still in the castle, Draco wouldn't even hesitate to go and tell her everything.

Filch. Yes, the janitor Filch. He would tell him. He would take action. He wouldn't have mercy. He hated every single student and...

But he didn't hate them as much as Draco did.

And it was then that Draco understood he couldn't tell anybody, because to open his mouth and have them expelled didn't even come close to what those two infractors deserved. After all, the reasons for which Draco wanted to do it weren't limited to school rules.

That is true, he thought. Those bloody friends of Potter think they can have it their way, but they mustn't fear that I'll tell everyone of the nasty things they plan to do. They only have to worry about me! Father, I'm going to revenge you for all your trouble, even if it's just a bit. Yes... that's it... this is not Hogwarts' business...

... this is _personal_.

**–o–**

Harry noticed he was suddenly alone. He hadn't realized it, but for the past few days both Ron and Hermione no longer stayed with him for any length of time. Both of them made the excuse by saying their prefect chores had became more intense, but Harry was starting to suspect something was up. Later, he would recall Madeye Moody's attitude and would laugh at mistrusting his friends.

Ron and Hermione had plans of their own. Very intimate plans that they didn't mean to share with anybody else. That they _mustn't_ share with anybody else. They planned the big moment with surgical precision; Hermione had that skill. They used their rounds and patrols and every moment alone. What they were attempting to do had to be meticulously planned.

And so, while Harry was practicing Legerimency, Ron and Hermione were whispering ideas.

"What about next Friday?" murmured Ron out of the corner of his lips.

"Think so?" she whispered.

"Yes, it'd be better that way. Friday or Saturday. As long as we can..." he looked around, as if he would have problems saying it, "... as we can sleep over the next morning."

Hermione blushed, but agreed.

"Yes," she said, "Friday will be okay."

"_Legilimens_!" yelled Harry. "I know, you are thinking on... on... toast?"

"Yes!" Neville smiled. "That's what I had for breakfast. I was thinking on that, Harry!"

"Well, I'm finally getting the hang of this," he smiled. "What do you think of that, Ron? Hermione?"

The previously mentioned turned their attention to Harry and realized they had missed the last five minutes of practice.

"What?"

"Come again?"

Harry arched one eyebrow, slowly.

"Were you watching? I just saw toast in Neville's head."

"Hah, hah. Good one, Harry," Neville chuckled.

Ron and Hermione blushed. They squirmed uncomfortably on the couch. If Harry was doubtful before, now he was even moreso.

"I was telling Ron about next Friday's patrol round," the girl risked. "We might return late."

"Quite late," added Ron.

"Yes, you see... Well, they asked us to watch longer."

Harry wasn't looking away from his friends. He decided not to push. He had become more conscious ever since Sirius...

He slapped his right cheek.

"For the last time, Harry, stop doing that," said Hermione, recovering her usual seriousness and taking advantage of the situation so Harry would deviate from the topic.

"Fine, fine... Whatever you say," he murmured. He turned toward Neville and exclaimed: "_Legilimens_! Were you thinking on pumpkin juice?"

"No. Orange juice."

Harry swore under his breath. He attempted to empty his mind and try again.

**–o–**

There was something unsettling about the way Draco Malfoy watched Ron and Hermione during the following rounds. Sometimes, when there weren't limited jurisdictions, the Prefects of the different houses walked into one another along the halls of Hogwarts. This didn't bother anyone, because everyone enjoyed exchanging some words with a partner. This was evidently different when that partner was a Slytherin.

Draco didn't mind. He preferred to be alone. It was much better to be alone so he could stalk the steps of the happy couple. Malfoy hadn't yet found out where and when the demonstration of love would be performed.

Malfoy wasn't a fool. He knew; or better said, he suspected, where the event would be: that special room on the seventh floor, the same one where he went during the past year with a selected group formed by Umbridge, the Inquisitor Squad. He was sure about the place, but he still needed a date. The time was obvious: during the patrolling rounds, when the castle was in its slumber.

So he followed the lovebirds, knowing that, if they thought they were alone, the idiots would start blabbing. He just had to follow them... Follow them and wait.

_Bingo_.

"Then it's set," whispered Hermione, trembling slightly. She had tone of contained emotion. "It'll be next Friday... We'll do it next Friday."

Ron nodded. He was also trembling at the emotion that had started to invade his body. Two more days, he thought; two more days and he would live the most intense experience in his life.

He hastily thought on other previous intense experiences from his past, and decided that not even being attacked by a group of Death Eaters inside the Ministry of Magic could match what would happen next Friday.

Malfoy wouldn't miss it, either. Hidden behind a statue representing an elegant wizard with a big cane as wand, Draco smiled evilly upon having finished receiving the needed data.

Friday. Next Friday. It was time to plot revenge.

That night, he couldn't sleep. He was also excited, but more than anything else about the perfection of his plan. He wouldn't just humilliate the happy couple; he wouldn't just make them pay... he was also going to use that for his own benefit. Blackmail, that was the word. He would threaten Granger and Weasley with telling others what he had seen. He would grin at them in the halls with that expression of evil so common on his face. He would make them suffer mind–boggling torments until they couldn't bare it any longer, and then he would break his word and tell all.

And in what a fantastic way! If there could have been any chance of publishing it in the papers... He could already imagine the title in giant letters: MINISTRY EMPLOYEE'S SON AND PREFECT OF HOGWARTS FOUND IN SINFUL SITUATION WITHIN CASTLE LIMITS: _"Thanks to the intervention of _Draco Malfoy_, Prefect of Slytherin, _Ron Weasley_ and _Hermione Granger_, ex–strudents and ex–Prefects of Gryffindor, were caught red–handed while they performed sinful actions under the very nose of _Albus_ –idiot– _Dumbledore_..."_. And if a compromizing photo was added, the pack was full.

And it would be the beginning. Just the beginning. He would make sure every day of their miserables lives became a storm of memories from that point on. He would remind them of their actions.

But first, and before the gossip, Malfoy resolved to humilliate them in the act. He wanted to make them pay, no matter what.

He thought long and hard. How to annoy in the worst way? He didn't want to limit himself to heavy jokes and pranks; he wanted to hurt. He yearned to see Granger crying in impotence. That's what he wanted.

He grinned. A macabre thought had appeared in the darkest corner of his mind. So little Miss Granger was looking forward to an intense night? Then he could provide her with what she wanted. He would just have to walk up to that moron Weasley and apply the Imperius Curse. Yes, it was as simple as that. He would order him to act normally, and when he and the mudblood were alone he would force him to go too far.

And that's precisely what Malfoy would have done; except for the tiny little detail that he didn't know how to invoke the Imperius.

He cursed all who forbode its teaching. He cursed Potter, since thanks to him his father had been jailed. Lucius had promised his son to teach him the Unforgiveables that summer, when Draco was old enough that he could use his wand outside a school setting. Damn Potter. Damn Weasley.

Damn, damn, _damn_ Hermione Granger.

He toyed with his wand a little more. He had adquired that habit every time he became lost in his thoughts. He lamented on not being able to use the Imperius Curse. He would have to think on something else...

**–o–**

Friday came.

There exists an environment of excitement when Friday arrives. The weekend is hours ahead, and it cheers up every single student (and teacher) who have spent the previous five days locked in classrooms. So, aomongst the students, more than a few were in moods of notorious high spirits.

And two of them looked way too excited.

"Are you sure you are okay?" Harry asked Ron during a new practice of Legilmancy. "Ron, I believe something is worrying you."

"No, no, I'm just a little tired," he said. "Tonight's round is quite important, and..." he yawned and stretched on the couch of the common room, "... and I'm drowzy."

"Then go to sleep," said his friend. "Hermione's been napping for almost two hours," he paused to stare at his wand and then commented: "She also acts weird."

Ron's brain was, as a matter of fact, exhausted. Nerves were tearing him down, but he still managed to come up with a somewhat true lie.

"That's because we are Prefects. You can't imagine how difficult it is. I mean... I mean... Last year wasn't that bad, but now they demand extra responsibilities to us."

"Oh, and that's why you'll have extended patrols during the night."

Ron realized Harry's selected tone. There was a pinch of sarcasm in the recipe.

"Yes?"

"Oh, good... Because I've been talking with Ernie, Prefect of Hufflepuff, and he had no idea about the extended rounds."

Ron's ears reached an intense color and heat.

"Oh, well, that's because... they... asked... only Hermione and me to... to take those new patrols."

Harry scowled, slightly.

"Fine, whatever you say..." he murmured, next he turned his back on Ron and resumed practicing Legilimency on Neville, who was waiting several meters away.

Ron felt he was saved by a hair. An extremely thin hair. He sighed deeply and relaxed on the couch. He should have gone upstairs and slept a bit, because he was actually tired and he might not last long that night. He wanted to rest for a moment. He closed his eyes and made sure to cool down.

The couch was pretty comfortable. So comfy that he soon yawned with spirit and, before he knew it, he had fallen asleep.

There she was, standing next to a bed. Hermione smiled at him while her hands held his, and she guided him slowly to the mattress. On the wooden head of the bed there were carved the initials H + R.

Ron swallowed. Hermione seemed to float toward it, dragging him along. She stopped next to the bed and Ron imitated her. Her hands were warm and soft... just like her smile... just like her glance.

Harry's figure blurred within Ron's visual field. He got scared, glanced around hastily, but there was nobody else around.

A hand as soft as silk, so used to books, was pressed to his right cheek and gently forced him to stare at her. Hermione kept smiling. Ron, forgetting Harry, smiled as well.

They hugged loosely, effortlessly. Their noses rubbed against the other. Their bodies slowly glued one to the other. Hermione closed her eyes and half–opened her tiny mouth, inviting him in. Ron moved to kiss her with passion.

Ron stared immediately to his left. He could have sworn Harry had been there just one thousandth of a second before, but now there was no one. With a slight paranoia, Ron's eyes moved from left to right, up and down, looking, searching...

He heard the gentle whisper of fabric in movement. When he returned his sight to Hermione, the girl had released herself from her robe. A quick glance demonstrated he was in a similar situation. He blushed a bit, but Hermione didn't give him time for anything else. She held his head between her hands, pressing gently on his cheeks, and brought him closer to her O–shaped lips.

They kissed.

Ron opened his eyes. Behind Hermione, just in sight, was Harry. He was staring straight into his eyes.

"_Ahh_!"

Ron awoke and fell off the couch. Neville and Harry helped him get to his feet.

"Ron! What happened? Was that a nightmare?" asked Neville.

"It was... it was..." Ron stuttered. He noticed Harry was looking at him in worry and quickly thought up for a lie. "It was a dream, yes. I dreamt You–Know–Who appeared and... and... Don't look at me like that!"

Harry shrugged.

"That's what I dreamt!" Ron declared. He shrugged off his partners' arms with a jerk. "I'm going to sleep. I have to be ready for tonight's patrol."

And without another word, he left.

**–o–**

The prefects of Hogwarts were beginning their patrol rounds. Ron and Hermione had spent ten whole minutes in complete silence. She risked a glance out of the corner of her eye and saw her partner wide–eyed.

"Ron?" she asked, timid. "Is something wrong?"

Ron thought for a moment before replying.

"Did Harry ask you about this patrol?"

"No. Why, did he you?"

"Yes. I believe he suspects us."

They walked along a corridor with statues of famous wizards.

"I don't blame him," she said at last. "Look, we have been hiding this from him for more than a year. He already suffered greately with... with everything that happened around him. I think we should have told him about us, no matter his reaction."

Ron nodded silently.

"I understand. We'll tell him tomorrow," he decided.

"Are you sure?" she hesitated.

"Quite sure. He suspects, already. It'll be better to tell the truth for once and for all."

"Yes... You're right..." they walked in front of several classroom doors. "We tell him tomorrow."

They continued the round normally, or at least as normal as possible for two lovers who had to wait for the best moment to kiss and more; the moment which Ron and Hermione hoped to use to their greatest advantage.

"You think now...?" they said at the same time. They glanced at each other and smiled.

"I believe we both are impatient," she qualificated.

"And nervous."

"And expectative."

"And... and... hot?"

Hermione blushed. "Now that you say so... Yes. I think so."

She felt Ron squeeze her hand in a loving gesture.

"It's time," he said in a drowned voice.

Hermione swallowed and sighed. "It's time," she said, sealing the pact.

**–o–**

Two shapes stalked in a seventh–floor hall. One of them paced from here to there, thinking deeply.

A door emerged next to them. The shapes approached.

They shared a stare, and nodded. Hermione opened the door and took a look inside. She blushed.

"Ron... This... I never thought..."

"Neither did I," he smiled. "I just asked for what I needed, and the Room of Requirement did the rest."

They hugged briefly. Then she said:

"Let's go, my love. Let's go in."

Ron smiled like a moron. In all that time, Hermione had never called him "my love".

They were about to walk in when a deafing crashing came from the end of the corridor. Ron and Hermione jumped; she even released a little yelp, and they ran to the source of the noise.

Someone had pushed some armor on the perpendicular hall, which had fallen with a metallic clanking way too noticeable at those hours of the night.

"Look, there's ink stains everywhere... And paste!" said Hermione.

Ron examined the nearest walls.

"Somebody has poured soup here and there," he said, and then realized: "I think Peeves was around. Can you fix all of this?"

Hermione nodded and swung her wand. The armor leapt back to their respective places and the ink stains vanished. The soup vaporized.

"Where's Filch?" said Ron, staring alternatively to opposite ends of the corridor.

"He must be way below," Hermione deduced. "All this noise should have alerted him."

Ron forgot all about Peeves. "Then we are alone," he smiled to Hermione. She smiled back.

"Bloody Peeves," she said. "On that I agree with Filch. He almost ruined our moment together."

Ron extended his hand. "Follow me, darling?"

She blushed, but accepted. "Let's go..."

They walked to the door, opened it, and walked inside.

Hermione wondered who had designed that room, especially because it contained all the comfortability a happy couple could possibly need to do.

A good part of the room was occupied by a huge heart–shaped bed, with the softest and most comfortable mattress anybody could ask for, with rose petals spread on its surface. The rest of the room was plagued by pillows; hundreds of pillows of every size, color and format.

It was a room to be comfy in, no doubt.

"_Fermaportus_!" Hermione whispered nervously to the door. She turned to Ron. "My love... at last..." and she hugged him. "At last..."

"Yes," he murmured, hugging her in return. Then whispered: "I love you..."

Hermione remained silent. He couldn't think a couple of words could affect her so much. She released the hug and stepped back, gazing straight into Ron's eyes.

"W–What?"

Ron understood the reaction, but wasn't going to step back. He approached and hugged her again.

"What you heard," he said, and kissed her. "I love you," another kiss. "I love you, Hermione Granger."

"Ron..." she whispered in drowned tone. "Ron, I... Oh, _Ron_..."

She threw her arms around his waist, squeezing tightly. An epic kiss followed. They closed their eyes and enjoyed how their tongues explored the other's mouth. That was perfect. It was their moment. Their private moment.

Their hands started to get restless. Both his and hers slid along their beloved's back. But they didn't want to stop the kiss... That was even better than the other option. At their age, a kiss of passion like that one could be much better than anything else.

So they kept it like that. They didn't know how long it lasted, but even if their lips would have been glued for hours, the time was too short for them; no kiss would ever be as strong as this one. The worst part of kissing is not stopping the action, but realizing the kiss must became a memory.

She felt his hands going down her back, stopping right on her tush. That didn't bother her, since her own hands had already taken the same trip on him.

_The hell with rules_, Hermione thought. He loves me, I love him, we want to do it and we already promised not to go beyond the limits; fine, not that much, anyway. Hermione, you are together with the man you love inside the most private room in all Hogwarts. Do not feel ashamed for what you feel... Just do it.

So she did: she stopped kissing and they gazed into each other's eyes. She smiled.

"Ron... Do you want to...? I mean..."

"Yes," he said. "But only if you want so."

Hermione kissed him again. They closed their eyes and enjoyed the new kiss. Seconds later, still kissing, their robes slid down to the floor.

On the opposite end of the room, something was happening under a small mountain of big and cozy pillows. A hand had just put aside a pink heart–shaped pillow, and now the scene was in sight.

He wished he hadn't done that, but he couldn't help it. There they were, kissing and beginning to remove their clothes. Just a little more. He distractedly patted the artifact in his hand. Just a little more. He saw them laying down on the big bed, still hugging and kissing. Just a little more. The robes were on the floor, between some small pillows. The wands stuck out from their pockets.

Just a little more, Draco... Just a little more, and you'll have them in your claws. Good, sweet revenge. Weasley and Granger would pay. He'd make sure they pay.

He started a little. They had stopped kissing and Hermione had moaned. Draco made sure to hate that sound coming from impure lips. Ron was kissing his beloved's neck, from the jaw and down to the base. Draco didn't want to look... but he had to.

He had to be alert. He had to make his big entrance at the proper time. He had to be ready; he once more patted what he held in his hand. Soon, Draco, soon they will be under your control.

He looked again, and grimaced. The lovers were now in their underwear.

Ron moved back a bit and carefully observed Hermione. She was laying on the soft surface of the mattress. He observed her body, from feet to head. Despite her womanly beauty, he fixed his eyes much longer on her face than anywhere else.

It was strange. Ron had thought he only noticed the superficial... and that was a fact. He considered that feminine body, the one which had gone on so many adventures in the past, was beauty. Her hips had the correct width, they didn't pretend to be wasp–like or chubby. Her legs were actually funny, perhaps because of walking around carrying tons of books. Her bust (and here Ron was forced to blush) wasn't anything out of this world, and however he thought it looked like something he must have deep respect for.

And her face...

... Ron could not define it.

He just couldn't. He observed it there, staring at him and smiling. Her hair, always frizzy, was now falling in random directions all over the mattress. That was the best of all, but he wasn't bringing down anything of the rest. Hermione wasn't pretty of face, neither of bust, neither of hips, neither of legs.

Hermione was beauty in everything at the same time, and everything at the same time was part of that balance of beauty.

I know why I think she's so beautiful, thought Ron. It's because I love her. It's because I truly love her.

Hermione was thinking similar. She watched him staring at her. She saw him kneel in front of her, looking at her at the same time.

She gave him a studious glance, from those red hairs to the knees leaned on the mattress. Ron had grown up, but he still had childish attributes. His face and chest were hairless, and his pectorals were slightly pale and somewhat worked out. To be a Quidditch Keeper demanded physical exercise and muscular work, and despite he didn't need to manipulate a Bludger Bat, he needed the strength in his arms to avoid falling off the broom.

Although Ron didn't show it, he did have muscles. Few, but they were there. His arms hid them pretty good. Inside those wooden sticks there were metal tendons.

And his face...

... Hermione could never define it accurately.

Those freckles and the naive smile made him look like a child. No matter his sixteen years, Ron seemed younger than that. It was a face that included red–hot ears, half in shame and half impatience, and a pair of day–dreaming eyes.

I know why I think he's so handsome, Hermione thought. It's because I love him. It's because I truly love him.

"_Hermione_..."

Ron placed a hand on her belly, giving it a warm massage.

"_Ronald_..."

She put a hand on his shoulder, which she stroked.

Ron smiled, but she smiled stronger. She took his hand on the belly with one of hers and gently pushed it on her chest, keeping it there firmly. She found it amusing to see Ron's reddening cheeks.

"Ah... eh... Wow, it seems... you don't care that much about... about the... the rules," the red–haired stuttered.

"I don't mind them, here," she whispered. "I see you don't, either," she added the moment she squeezed his hand, gently.

"Well, if you don't care... why would they care about me?" he smiled.

"You are correct... Why do rules have to matter, when it's about loving?"

Ron didn't like the way Hermione said that. His voice had honey in it, and it was sticking all over his ears.

Hermione straightened until she could tuck her legs underneath her body. Then she knelt in front of Ron. She put her hands on his waist and gave them a soft massage while she spoke.

"Ron... I want you to feel my skin next to yours. I want you to have the honor of... of doing what you couldn't at the Prefect's Bathroom."

Ron blinked, shook his head, and said:

"Me?"

She giggled. It was a soft and joyful laugh.

"You are so sweet, when you work at it! Yes, Ron... You," she kissed him. "You, you, you and only you," she said, adding a kiss after every "you".

Ron smiled with that nervousness he always displayed right before something important. To be alone with Hermione was pretty important. The fact she asked him to remove her bra was even more important. So it was no surprise his hands trembled like jelly while he blindly searched for the bra strap on Hermione's back.

She cheered him up with a couple of kisses, and her lips also trembled. Hermione was nervous, although she demonstrated those as well as Ron demonstrated his hidden muscles. She felt she was ready and didn't want to wait anymore.

His hands found the strap. It was incredible how the mere action of touching a piece of cloth could make the heart get ready to jump out the body. He made an extra effort to keep his brain inside the skull while trying to recall how his fingers worked. Then he did a few sweeps over the hooks of the strap and...

... and that was all. Hermione felt the freedom of that vague pressure and Ron saw how the piece of underwear fell on the mattress. When he looked up, his eyes naturally met with that heavenly and naked body who smiled at him.

"And..." she hesitated, lowering her eyes and blushing, "... what do you think?"

Ron managed to stop his runaway Adam's Apple and, after a most impressive mental battle, was able to come out with the best answer a man could ever give.

"_Ggg_..." he said.

She laughed in happiness and squeezed him against herself in a powerful hug. Ron returned from the shock and felt the heat of her skin on his. They hugged, they stroked... and they fell again, right there, knelt one in front of the other, in a long and passinate kiss of pure love.

Draco Malfoy was looking. He felt sick. It was horrible. Just the thought of touching the shoulder of the horrible mudblood brought shudders all over his body. To imagine that was a disgrace... But to _witness_ it was far too much.

That's it, he thought. This is the moment I was waiting for.

Both hands gripped on the artifact. One of them slid down to his pocket and produced his wand. Then he moved a big teddy bear–shaped pillow and placed the artifact in position. It was aiming at the lovers.

Draco smiled. He couldn't resist it, no more.

"_SMILE_!"

Hermione screamed; so did Ron. They jumped away from each other just as an intense white flash blinded them. They covered their eyes, but it was too late already. Someone was laughing.

Ron sent his hand to his pocket, but then recalled both Hermione and him had gotten rid of their clothes. They were only wearing the minimun required to cover those parts they weren't ready to show. So he crawled until the foot of the bed and extended his hand to his robe.

"_Accio_!" laughed that cold voice. Ron and Hermione's wands flew from the robes' pockets and were caught by Draco Malfoy's hand.

"You!" Ron roared, red in embarrassement and wrath. "You damn...!"

"Freeze!" Malfoy warned him, aiming his wand straight at him. Ron stopped just before jumping at him and obeyed with extreme reluctance. "That's better, Weasley..." Draco smiled. "Well, well, well... What do we have, here? It looks to me like two Prefects in a very illegal position. How are you, Granger? Put some clothing on, would you? I can't tolerate looking at you that way."

Ron risked a glance over his shoulder. Hermione, terrified, had dragged herself to the head of the bed and was covering her chest with a smiling pillow.

"What are you doing here?" Ron asked, returning his full attention to Malfoy. "How did you get in? How did you know...? _What the bloody hell are you doing, here_?"

"My duty as Prefect, of course. How did I know, you ask? You and the mudblood have big mouths. You shouldn't talk of your little private business while you patrol. How did I get in? Merely a couple of spells and you both thought that good for nothing poltergeist was around. I took advantage of that to slip in here and hide myself under that heap of pillows."

Ron alternated his sight between Malfoy's horrible expression of satisfaction and the tip of his wand. Then he looked back at Hermione, now covering herself with the blanket. She was still scared, and Ron could swear she murmured "They're going to expell us... They're going to expell us... It's all my fault..."

He returned his attention to Malfoy, to his wand... to his other hand.

"Oh, damn..."

"Ah! You mean this, pauper?" Malfoy laughed, raising his hand and showing a photographic camera. "Yes, it's a wizard's camera, and inside it there's a picture of you two, pretty comfy together and breaking the rules."

"Why are you doing this?" Hermione spoke between sobs, from behind.

"Why? Granger, Granger, there are so many reasons... Let's see, let's see... we have, for instance, that you are a mudblood. That should be reason enough, but there's more: you are a mudblood _and_ friend of Potter.

Malfoy smiled almost insanely. He was enjoying the situation like a gigantic party.

"That's not a reason!" Hermione began to cry.

"Of course it is... Your stupid friend Potter was responsible for putting my father behind bars. You helped him out. You are on my revenge list, which I'll carry out right now. Here I have a photo I'm dying to show to everyone at school."

Both Ron and Hermione felt their hearts go cold.

"You bloody won't!" yelled Ron. He got ready to jump at him, but a red beam scratched his right ear. Hermione squeaked, but Ron decided to back away, falling on his back and scooting backwards until he reached her, hugging and consoling the girl.

"Be careful, Weasley," whispered Malfoy, quitting the smile. "To attack a Prefect is a severe mistake."

Hermione cried stronger and hid her head on Ron's chest. He hugged her absent–mindedly. All his attention was focused on Malfoy.

"What's the price?" he whispered.

"Pardon me?" asked Draco, smiling again.

"Don't play the fool! You want to blackmail, that's what you want..."

"Quite true."

"... so tell us the bloody price."

Malfoy gestured as if he was thinking on that, although it was obvious he didn't need to. After a while he said:

"No price."

"What!"

"I said no price. What could you possibly give me that I could ever wish? Money? Hah! You are poor and she wouldn't gather enough as for satisfying me! And besides, I am rich already," he smiled more. "I didn't come here after money or belongings, Weasley... I've come looking for revenge."

He shook the camera and exclaimed,

"Tomorrow at this time the entire school will know what you did!" and Hermione cried louder after hearing that. "I will make sure copies of this photo appear in every corner of the castle: hanging on every message board, awaiting in every desk of every professor and, of course, in the hands of your very own parents."

"_No_!" Hermione was horrified. Her parent's didn't know all her adventures in Hogwarts, but from to be handed such a photo... "Malfoy, don't do it! I'll do whatever you ask, but don't spread that photo!"

"No, Hermione..." Ron hugged her.

"Ron, there's nothing we can do! He has our wands, look... We doesn't have anything to hurt him with, only these ugly pillows that won't do anything good. He has all the winning cards... We can't do anything."

"You better believe it," Malfoy whispered, smiling. "And I don't want anything from you. Except, of course... to see your faces when you get punished for what you've done, you naughty children."

Malfoy backed up toward the door without deviating the wand's aim from the young lovers, although they couldn't do a thing to avoid his actions. Ron stared at Malfoy from the bed with a hatred so big it surpassed what Malfoy himself felt toward him. He just limited himself to hugging Hermione, who was currently crying her frustration out on his shoulder.

Malfoy tried to open the door. It was sealed shut.

"Hah!" Ron laughed. "I was expecting you to do that! Hermione sealed the entrance, and only she can remove the spell!"

"Oh, yes? My, then I suppose it will be a total waste to try something like this, won't it?"

For Ron's horror, Draco aimed his wand to the door and performed a quick flourish. There was a sound like a suck, but inverted.

"Goodnight, lovebirds," Malfoy smiled. He opened the door and stopped dead. "_What the hell_–?"

Hermione yelled again. Ron startled. Malfoy shook and stumbled backwards, falling on some pillows. When the lovers stared at the door they saw Harry rubbing his knuckles.

"Damn you, Potter!" Malfoy groaned while holding his jaw. He raised his wand.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Malfoy's wand flew out of his hand at the same time as the camera. Ron and Hermione's wands had also fell. Harry aimed his at them.

"_Accio_!" he said. The wands were propelled into his hand, and from there were thrown to the bed. "Take them!" said Harry, who didn't seem too surprised at seeing his friends in such a situation.

Draco took advantage of the distraction to push Harry out of the room. He closed the door and turned on time to jump at his wand.

"The camera! Hermione, the camera!" Ron yelled. "_Diffindo_!"

The spell blasted from the tip of his wand and hit the camera full–on, making it bounce and go through a pillow, making it explode in a shower of goose feathers.

"_Petrificus Totalis_!"

Malfoy's spell hit Ron, who fell on his back on the mattress. Hermione screamed, this time in rage, stood up and aimed Malfoy. He aimed at her.

"You put a spell on the camera," she whispered.

"Of course I did. I'm not an idiot, Granger."

Harry made his return in that moment. He also aimed at Malfoy.

"Two against one," Harry said. "You better surrender."

Draco laughed. "I don't mind surrendering. You can't destroy the evidence! And you can tell whoever you wish: even Dumbledore himself will agree I was doing my job!"

"That's a lie!" yelled Harry.

"H–Harry... Lower your wand, please."

Harry heard the words coming out Hermione's mouth, but he couldn't understand their meaning. He looked at her and surprised when seeing her pointing her wand at him.

"What are you doing?"

She bit her lower lip. "He's right. Malfoy is right. We can not avoid it, so at least I will carry on with my duty as Prefect the best I can. I still am a Prefect, you know."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. Despite being dressed only by a pink blanket with random petals of roses attached to it, Hermione seemed threatening.

"Harry, you was in the halls at night. That's not good."

"Are you insane? Hermione, you–!"

"Don't talk to me!" she squeaked. "I was blinded by very basic human instincts. Now I'll get what I deserve. Harry, don't make this any more difficult. It's better that this bad night is forgotten."

"No one is going to forget it, Granger," Malfoy smiled. "No one is ever going to forget this."

"I believe," Hermione said, slowly and purposedly, "it is possible to forget. It's as simple as swinging a wand. Harry, no matter what happens, do not attempt to escape. _Do not_ attempt it."

And Harry understood. Hermione was asking him to do something. He had to distract Malfoy. His foot settled next to a round pillow nearby as he slowly nodded.

"Yes... It is true... I was taking a walk out–NOW!"

Draco was about to cast a new spell, but his arm was hit by a flying pillow coming from who–knows–where, which gave Harry enough time to dodge.

"You won't get away this time, Potter..."

"No! We'll just see if I don't!"

Hermione raised her wand, inhaled deeply and shouted.

"_Obliviate_!"

It hit Draco straight in the head. The boy fell and landed on the many pillows. Hermione approached, walking slowly due to the many pillows and with the few clothes she had left. Between she and Harry, they helped Draco stand up.

"Memory modifier spell," she gasped. "Never tried it, before. I hope he's fine."

"I hope you hurt him badly," said Harry with no sign of remorse.

Draco opened his eyes. They wasn't focusing on anything.

"What happened? Where am I?" he asked.

"Malfoy, you are patrolling the corridor and just recalled your round is over," said Hermione. "You are tired and only want to sleep."

"Oh. Good."

"When you wake up, you will remember all this as a dream, and you will never try it again."

"Ah. Fine."

"Come, I'll bring you to the door. Remember: you don't remember a thing."

"What about?"

"That's how I like it. Now, go."

"Mmm... Okay."

Draco went away, slightly staggering toward the walls. Hermione made sure he wouldn't return and sealed the door again.

She ran to aid Ron. She applied the anti–spell on him and Ron jumped.

"Harry!"

Hermione seemed to recall Harry was there, and definitely remembered she was barely clothed under the blanket, so she blushed and began to dress while Ron had all of Harry's attention.

"Harry! You came just in time!" said Ron, and then realized his words. "What are you doing here?"

Harry smiled. "I've read your mind."

"What? Me? When?"

"Twice. Once was some time ago, when you went upstairs to your room to sleep; and then this afternoon, when you fell asleep on the couch. Er, sorry, I saw yourself with Hermione and... well, I saw all the plans for tonight."

"Then why did you come?"

"Malfoy," said Harry. "This morning he was quite perky in the Great Hall, and I felt curious. I read his mind before returning to Gryffindor Tower and I saw his plans for tonight as well."

There was a moment of heavy silence. Only the rustling of Hermione's robe could be heard when she passed it over her head.

"Well... eh... Thanks a lot," whispered Ron. He felt so guilty.

"Harry," spoke Hermione, now decent. "I'm so sorry for not having told you. I mean, you were so... I don't know... We didn't want you to..."

Harry smiled. "It's okay, really. I'm glad to know. Anyway, I was beginning to suspect. And now... can I ask you two a favor?"

"Never to do any of this ever again again?" Ron risked.

"Not really. I just want you to modify my memory as well."

"What for?" Hermione asked.

"Two reasons. First, I'd like to forget I've seen you two in bed," Ron and Hermione were blushing red. "And second, I believe the night is still young."

"Eh?"

"I'm trying to say," resumed Harry, winking at them, "that it's still early to go to bed. To the tower's beds, anyway."

Ron and Hermione were now two tomatoes ready to be harvested. Ron approached his friend.

"Sheesh, Harry... What can I say..."

"Just say Obliviate, preferibly with the wand up. And if you want to tell me about your situation, tomorrow will be better. Right now, I only want to forget."

Ron hugged his friend. Then Hermione did so.

"Thanks for everything, Harry. And now... step back, please. I need more room..."

Harry nodded and obeyed. Hermione aimed her wand at him. The last thing Harry knew was that she had yelled "_Obliviate_!" and everything he recalled of that night began to drain like the water of a bathtub when the cork is pulled out.

**–o–**

"Is that true? Hermione and you? Well, eh... Well! Congratulations!" Harry smiled the next morning, during breakfast. Ron and Hermione, curiously happier than imaginable, were sitting together, hugging, and had informed their friends of the love they felt.

"I thought it was strange," smiled Neville from the other side of the table. "Well, you two are always together, now that you both are Prefects. Yes, I think you are kind of an ideal couple."

The congratulations went on along the table. Minutes later everyone was focusing on their own breakfasts, as did Ron and Hermione.

"Good. We said it and the world is not over," Ron smiled. "I can enjoy my breakfast, now."

"Yes. I'm a little sorry for Malfoy, though. I believe I over–powered the spell when... Nevermind."

They stared at Slytherin's table. Crabbe and Goyle looked at their boss and wondered why had he attended breakfast wearing pajamas. The others who also witnessed the event giggled at a confused blonde Slytherin.

"By the by, what ever happened with that camera?" whispered Ron.

"I took it and wished to have a good place to hide it."

"And?"

Hermione smiled. "The Room of Requirement understood, so it opened a hole to outer space."

"Get out!"

"It's true".

Ron smiled. No one asked why.

"It's all right. We love each other and... last night is safe. There're no photos, and everybody who knew have forgotten. It's all right," Ron said.

Just in that moment, though, they managed overhear Harry's voice while he chatted with Dean Thomas.

"I think tomorrow I will practice Legilemancy with Ron or Hermione. I'm becoming pretty good at it."

Ron and Hermione remained silent and exchanged a new glance.

"Hermione, do you think you can teach me Occlumancy in less than twenty–four hours?"

"I hope so... To the library!"

And they left the table together. No one asked why.

**–o–**

**The End**

**–o–**


End file.
